Unbreakable (Waifwater Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  Abby watched her mother drink half the water, then sat back down in her chair and took Basilia’s cold hands. “So you see, Mother?”

  It was Basilia’s turn to look away. “I suppose.”

  “Even if he weren’t a Dean, wolves are only allowed to…date other wolves.”

  “It’s not the dating that’s a problem,” Basilia corrected. “It’s when they try to bring a non-wolf into the pack that the trouble starts. Before I came here to live, that boy with the red hair was alpha. Now a Dean is pack leader.” She shook her head. “The world outside has moved on without me, Abby.”

  And again, a shadow moved through her eyes.

  “Shall I fix you some breakfast?” Abby asked, eager to change the subject. “You need to eat.”

  Her mother waved her hand absentmindedly. “You go find Jewel. I’ll make breakfast for the three of us.”

  Abby nodded. “First, what about the wand?”

  “It’s the only one of its kind, of course,” Basilia said, grasping the wand. “This wand will obey you. It’s created from bits of you, a spark from me, and even a touch of Jewel. Maybe even more importantly, it’s created from parts of this magical world. There is only one thing it needs to wake up and serve you.”

  Abby widened her eyes, completely entranced. Could it be? “What does it need?”

  Basilia released the wand and grabbed the knife. She sliced Abby’s forearm. “Blood,” she said. “It needs your blood, sweetheart.”

  Abby jerked away reflexively. “Ow!”

  Basilia calmly drew Abby’s arm back to her and dipped the wand in the welling blood. She brushed Abby’s wound with her fingers, then began to rub the blood into the length of the wand.

  Abby wrapped her hand around the stinging wound and watched her mother work.

  “An obedient wand,” she breathed.

  She didn’t dare believe it.

  Acadia Desrochers had been a witch powerful and talented enough to create herself an obedient wand.

  Basilia…not so much.

  As Basilia kneaded the blood deep into the wand, she muttered, at first quietly, and then louder and louder until her voice reverberated throughout the room.

  Abby swallowed and drew back, half afraid, half fascinated—her mother’s magic could easily go awry, after all, but it was enthralling nonetheless—and forgot her throbbing arm as Basilia continued with the spell.

  Basilia’s voice reached a crescendo and at that moment, the wand began to hum and spark. Ripe scents of blood and something dark and unrecognizable grew heavy in the kitchen, and when finally her mother quieted and the wand calmed, Abby found herself quite inexplicably full of terror and huddled in a corner of the room.

  She couldn’t remember moving.

  “Abby,” Basilia exclaimed, rushing to wrap her arms around her shaking daughter. “What’s the matter?”

  Abby shook her head as she allowed her mother to lead her back to her chair. “I’m not sure. I think I blacked out for a second. I was suddenly in the corner, full of fear.”

  Whatever had happened, it really didn’t bode well for Basilia’s new wand.

  Her new wand.

  “You became connected with forces dark and light,” Basilia said, nodding wisely. “It would be a bit difficult to take in all at once.”

  Abby stared up at Basilia. “Mother, what have you done?”

  “Done? Why, I’ve made you a staff of protection, darling. You won’t have to kill the those who attack you, and you won’t have to allow them to hurt you.”

  “Oh.” Abby fought back tears as she wanted, more than anything, to believe. “Are you certain?”

  “This wand, my darling, is stronger even than Acadia’s curse. This wand is you.”

  Abby picked up the bloodstained wand, realizing she felt a certain connection with it as she held it. A closeness.

  She didn’t want to put it down.

  “How did you do this?” she asked, but barely noticed when Basilia didn’t answer.

  The wand fit her hand and settled warmly into her soul. “It does feel right,” she admitted.

  Basilia beamed. “I knew it would.”

  “How do I use it?”

  “Oh, honey. The same as you would any wand. Command it. Use your mind and send it through.” She paused. “If I were you, I’d practice on some cows first.”

  “Mother!”

  Basilia smirked.

  Abby sighed. “Thank you, Mama. I’m going to find Jewel. I’ll be back as soon as possible.” She slid the gift deeply into her pocket, kissed her mother’s cheek, and went to find the demon child, Jewel.

  Chapter Eight

  The pocket was the child’s playground.

  Her world was as “normal” as Abby and Basilia could make it, but that was difficult with no people. No shops, restaurants, schools, or cars.

  She had a television in her bedroom, so the outside world was piped in—and that was at the insistence of Basilia. She had music, the Internet, and a virtual teacher who was accustomed to magic, special situations, and very strange children.

  She had virtual friends, as well, but none of them were acceptable to either Basilia or Abby. They were an odd sort, and not in a good way.

  All her communications and conversations were monitored by a massive genius with the unfortunate name of Richard Dick.

  When Basilia was feeling particularly grumpy, she referred to him as Big Dick Dick.

  The child was forced to live a deficient life—not that she was actually a child. Never really had been.

  The only consolation was that the pocket was the only world Jewel had ever known. She didn’t remember or care what the “other” world was like.

  “Jewel,” Abby called, keeping her voice low.

  Jewel knew she was there. If she chose to come out, she would, no matter how loudly Abby called.

  She pulled a small bundle from her bag as she walked, probing the shadows cast by huge shade trees. The sky became bright and blue as the sun made a somewhat lazy appearance.

  The pocket was a huge, perfect garden.

  Paradise.

  “Not paradise,” Jewel said, stepping from behind a tree. “Prison. Pretty prison.”

  Jewel was half demon, half witch—and her exotic physical appearance left no doubt that she was…different.

  Her jet black, coarse hair snaked over her thin shoulders and fell to her waist. It hung over the alabaster skin of her face, but the red gleam of her staring, startling eyes couldn’t be hidden by the thick strands of hair.

  She wore a faded red sleeveless shift—the only clothing she would tolerate—that was loose and flowing and just barely reached her knobby knees.

  The girl was hideous, and she was beautiful.

  She was also the scariest thing Abby had ever faced—and Abby had faced some scary things.

  She shuddered when Jewel’s metaphysical fingers rifled through her mind as though the girl were digging through the papers in a file cabinet. She closed her eyes to gain the strength and power to force the demon out.

  When finally she opened her eyes, she was alone in her own skull once again.

  “I told you not to do that, Jewel.”

  Jewel studied her silently, her hands clasped behind her back, her face emotionless. “Shall I apologize?” she asked, finally.

  “Will you mean it?”

  “No.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “All right.” Jewel lowered her stare to the bundle Abby held, and a spark of interest lit her red eyes. She shook her hair out of her face. “Give that to me.”

  Abby lifted an eyebrow and waited.

  “Please,” Jewel added. “Pleaseandthankyouverymuch.”

  Abby tossed her the package. “Better,” she said, satisfied. Once upon a time Jewel would have attacked her. She’d have ripped the package from Abby’s hand without so much as blinking and wandered off, Abby forgotten.

  The part of Jewel that was a demon—the biggest part—fed fro
m the emotions, the darkness, and the hatred inside others. Her witch side wanted something else. Or maybe it was just her child side.

  “Ohhhh,” she cooed, pulling a skinny fashion doll from the paper.

  “Come to the house, Jewel. Mother is worried.”

  Jewel nodded, her gaze still on the doll, and followed Abby obediently back to the house.

  Basilia hated the dolls and would only allow Jewel one per month. When Jewel walked into the house, the doll in her hand, her gaze vacant, Basilia glared at Abby.

  Abby shrugged. “It’s been a month.”

  “Abby—”

  “She’ll be fine, Mother.”

  Jewel was already upstairs in her bedroom. The doll would be in cut, torn, and burnt pieces before the night was out.

  The backyard was a graveyard to the murdered dolls, and Jewel took as much pleasure in maintaining her cemetery as she did mutilating the dolls.

  Basilia pursed her lips but said nothing.

  Still, Abby felt the weight of her mother’s displeasure and worry as she helped set the table, so finally she faced Basilia and shrugged. “It gives her something to do.”

  “Sure,” Basilia agreed. “Just as tearing the wings off flies gives future serial killers something to do.”

  “She’s a demon. Mutilating plastic dolls is preferable to anything else she might do. There are animals in the pocket.” She paused. “You are in the pocket.”

  “I can handle that child,” Basilia said, placing a pitcher of orange juice on the table. “I’ve handled her just fine all this time.” She clutched at her chest for a second, her face contorting into a mass of agonized lines.

  “Mother!” Abby rushed to her side and pulled the older woman into her arms. “What’s wrong?” The medicine should have helped, and perhaps it had. Perhaps when Abby wasn’t there, Basilia’s dark agony was much, much worse.

  For sometimes, Basilia felt as though the pocket were choking her. She couldn’t breathe, she’d confessed, and the reality of her situation became too heavy, too real. Claustrophobia smothered her, and she wanted nothing more than to pick up a knife and slash her wrists.

  But it wouldn’t have mattered. After her husband had pushed her and the child into the pocket they barely aged—though Jewel aged at a more rapid rate than Basilia, a fact which none of them understood—and they did not die.

  They’d live for eternity inside the pocket.

  Trapped.

  Unless…

  Unless Abby were to find a way to make sure their release would not kill them. Because no matter how selfish it was, she could not bear the thought of watching her mother step through the door, only to die.

  She shuddered.

  She wasn’t entirely sure whether Acadia’s curse had made her immortal, or if somehow her father had.

  Acadia would have wanted her to live with the horror of her curse forever.

  Her father would have wanted her to be her mother’s keeper forever.

  Either one of them could have done it, but it was anyone’s guess as to which one of them actually had.

  She was thankful every day that Henry hadn’t imprisoned her inside the pocket with the others. She felt immediately guilty for the thought.

  “I will find a way out for you, Mama.” But they both knew that was an impossible task.

  “I know, dear. I know.” She patted Abby’s back. “Let’s eat. Call Jewel.”

  If it’d been up to her, Abby would have left the demon alone in her room with the doll, but Basilia insisted on maintaining at least a pretense of normalcy, and Jewel was required to come to the table and eat.

  It was either behave and do what was asked of her, or the dolls would be withheld.

  And the girl did so love her dolls.

  “Jewel,” Basilia snapped, when the girl sat down. “You go this instant and wash your hands.”

  Jewel’s expression didn’t change. She stood, walked to the sink, and then took a little too long washing her hands. When she sat back down, she wore the bland face of someone trying not to show too much disdain to those who disgusted her.

  She didn’t look at Basilia or Abby as she picked up her fork, cut a small piece of pancake, and slid the food into her mouth. She chewed with exaggerated care before repeating the process.

  Basilia watched her for a moment, then sighed heavily and picked up her own fork.

  Honestly, Basilia had made enormous progress with the child. When they’d first been forced together, Jewel had been a caged, wild little thing, barely capable of speech.

  She was no longer a child, though Basilia—and to a lesser degree, Abby—considered her one.

  Before they were halfway through breakfast, Jewel stopped eating. “I can’t eat with the scent of that all over you.”

  Abby stopped mid-chew. “The scent of what?”

  “You know.” Jewel lowered her suddenly sly gaze. “Him. The wolf.”

  “I do not smell of wolf,” Abby said. But how else could Jewel know about him?

  “You reek of him. He’s all over you.” Jewel reached over suddenly to pluck something from Abby’s shoulder. She held up a long, brown hair. “See?”

  “Give that to me and eat your breakfast.” Basilia snatched the hair from Jewel. “Go on, then. Eat your breakfast.”

  When it was time to go, Abby was more than ready. She tried to spend more time with her mother, truly she did, but an hour inside the pocket was like a long, dark month, and she couldn’t bear it.

  Her mother never argued or tried to get her to stay longer or visit more often. She understood.

  Besides, being inside the pocket made Abby sick. Not because it was a harsh place, or boring, or bleak, but because something inside it seeped into her body and made her physically ill. It also weakened her already somewhat lacking power.

  If Acadia returned, Abby had resigned herself to the fact that she might be forced to occasionally and for interminable lengths of time hide out in the pocket.

  She would become sick, but she doubted it would kill her.

  Truthfully, having dealt with both her father and Acadia, it was a wonder she could function at all.

  It was a wonder any of them had survived those terrible years.

  Abby hadn’t taken after her father in the power department. She was more like her mother.

  She was grateful for that. She wanted to be nothing like Henry Cameron.

  He’d begged Basilia to be strong. Had told her he’d rejoin her, no matter how long it took. It’d been twenty years and Basilia was still waiting.

  Still hoping.

  And still alone.

  Abby pushed back her chair and carried her dishes to the sink, trying to hide her eagerness to exit the pocket.

  “Leave them,” Basilia said, when Abby started to wash them. “I enjoy the work.”

  Abby knelt before her mother and took her hands. “What can I bring you next time?”

  “Oh yes,” Basilia said, and pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “I almost forgot.”

  “Just the usual?” Abby perused the list. “Is there nothing special you want? More books, some games? A bicycle?” She smiled, but knew there was pain in her eyes.

  “I have everything, darling. Just the usual supplies.” Then she hesitated, caressing Abby’s cheek before she continued, her voice bright. “Make sure you bring me some more candy. Maybe some extra so I can eat it when I…need it.”

  Abby blinked at the moisture she could feel welling in her eyes. She didn’t want to upset her mother further. “I will.”

  “Thank you, dear. Now you run on home. Rest. And don’t leave the hollow without your new wand.”

  Abby nodded and stood, then leaned forward to kiss Basilia’s cheek. “Goodbye for now. I’ll return with your supplies.”

  “Of course, Abby. Don’t worry about me.”

  Abby paused at the door. “Goodbye, Jewel. Take care of Mother.”

  Jewel ignored her.

  “Jewel,” Basilia snapped,
impatient with the girl’s inability to be a normal child. “Abby is speaking to you. Find your manners and say goodbye.”

  “Goodbye,” Jewel said, obediently. She never looked up from her empty plate. “Goodbye, sister.”

  Chapter Nine

  Abby flinched at the word.

  Sister.

  Jewel was further proof of her father’s betrayal—as though they’d needed proof.

  She slipped through the doorway and made her way home, unable to take a deep breath until she was once more inside her little house.

  “He’s all over you.”

  She stood staring into the mirror over her bathroom sink as she waited for the tub to fill. The woman who stared back at her was not the woman the world saw.

  Her reflection was of a young, vibrant beauty with pale, perfect skin, rosy cheeks, and dark pink and blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders. Her eyes were so bright blue they nearly burned the glass, her perfectly shaped lips full and tilted at the corners.

  Acadia had thought it amusing to hide that beauty beneath the horror of a…

  Hag.

  No, worse than a hag.

  A monster.

  Abby could see both faces.

  She traced her fingers over the false face, the ugly face. Its jawbones jutted sharply, above which sunken black eyes stared out with shadowed horror. The jaw jutted with angry defiance, and the forehead sloped into a receding hairline.

  At least she had her hair to be thankful for. It remained unchanged and was the best defense she could have hoped for.

  Her body was hers. Acadia hadn’t touched it. She must have thought putting that repulsive face atop of a normal body would have looked even more grotesque than making Abby ugly all over.

  Abby was grateful for small favors.

  “Sister…”

  Jewel’s voice echoed through her mind as she undressed and climbed into a hot, sudsy bath. She wanted nothing more than to lie there, to let the soothing herbs and comforting warmth seep into her very soul.

  She dozed.

  It was too quiet, there was no one there to distract her, and thoughts of Eli Dean slithered into her thoughts.

  “He’s all over you.”

  She shivered and sank deeper into the water.

  Eli was a handsome man. He was…